


Julian Hawke and the Misguided Game of Wicked Grace

by CptEmie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Card Games, Drunken Kissing, F/F, F/M, French Kissing, Gambling, Hawke having fun, Isabela having fun, Kissing, Modified spin the bottle, Neck Kissing, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4820687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CptEmie/pseuds/CptEmie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the gang sit down to a game of Wicked Grace after a day of fighting off mercenaries, and Isabela decides to add a new incentive for the winners: a kiss from Hawke.<br/>-----<br/>A little sneak peak at an upcoming story - the adventures of Julian Hawke, spanning the full plot of DA2. <br/>I don't really write anything smutty, so this is tame but sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Julian Hawke and the Misguided Game of Wicked Grace

            “I don’t know what it is,” Julian kicked her heels up onto the edge of the long table in Varric’s suite. “But an unnecessarily large group of mercenaries trying to kill me always makes me thirsty.”  
            “You and me both, sweet thing.” Isabela plopped down across from her and slid an oversized bottle of something that (considering they were in the Hanged Man) promised to be strong and cheap. “Let’s play for something more fun than coin, tonight,” she suggested, quirking an eyebrow at Julian and leaning down the table to give Varric a good, long look down her tunic.

            “I’m not sleeping with you, Rivaini,” Varric told her flatly.

            Isabela shrugged and sat back again. “Your loss.”

            “What did you have in mind, Bela?” Julian knew she probably shouldn’t ask, but her curiosity always seemed to get the best of her. She pulled her legs back under her as the others started to file in around them, bottles and mugs in hand.

            She grinned mischievously and took a long swig from her bottle. “I thought we’d play for you.”

            Sebastian immediately spat out his sip of wine and Merrrill giggled nervously. Julian tried her best to look affronted, but the gleeful smirk on Varric’s face and Fenris’ exaggerated eye-roll pulled a laugh out of her. “A kiss for the winner of each round?” Isabela was practically purring at the idea. Of course, she’d been trying to drag Julian into her bed for over a year, so this was probably just another sordid attempt to achieve that goal. “And maybe a grand prize for whoever takes the night?” She gave her trademark wink and Julian snickered.

            “Oo,” Isabela hummed. “You’re considering it!”

            Well, of course she was considering it. In two years the only companionship she’d had was just one horribly ill-advised, drunken night with her best friend; or the kind she’d had to pay for – and while the men and women at the Rose were wonderfully attentive, it wasn’t quite the breathless, desperate, clothes-tearing, scream-inducing kind of encounter she was used to. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself not to look to her right. It didn’t matter if Anders was pleased with the idea or not. It didn’t. It absolutely didn’t matter. It didn’t matter in the least that this would (hopefully) finally be an excuse to kiss him again. That was not important in the _least_. She kept her eyes steady on Isabela and swallowed a deep breath. “I’m in,” she decided.

            “Perhaps I should abstain.” Sebastian was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

            “I won’t force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Seb,” Hawke reached across the table and touched his hand lightly. “If you win a hand, you set the pace.”         The tips of his ears stained red, but he nodded. Just because he had forsaken his vows did not mean he was keen to sink back into the old habits of rakish hedonism.

            “Anyone else?” Isabela surveyed the table for objections. No one said a word, not even Varric. “Good,” the pirate queen took a victorious swig from her bottle and raised it in salute. “Varric, deal the cards!”

            The first hand seemed to drag on forever, the coil of anticipation twisted in Julian’s gut as she tried repeatedly to quiet it with whiskey. To everyone’s great surprise, Merrill won the hand on a technicality, and everyone turned expectantly to Hawke, who squirmed impulsively in her seat. The little elf was giggling and blushing, flush from the wine that tipped her over the edge after barely a half a cup. She really was the cutest, fastest drunk in the whole world. Julian tipped towards her gently and placed a sweet, chaste kiss on the tip of her nose. That seemed to satisfy the demands of the deal, for which Julian was grateful. It seemed wrong, somehow, to start the whole thing off with a woman that she felt so sisterly towards.

            When Isabela won the second round, Varric and Anders had chuckled knowingly. The lithe pirate climbed across the table and nudged Julian’s chin up with her nose, giving her the right angle to claim the other woman’s lips fully before dipping her tongue into Hawke’s mouth and humming in satisfaction. When Isabela slithered back into her chair, Hawke was blushing furiously, drawing a finger across her bottom lip and running one hand through her long hair. “Right,” Isabela pronounced proudly. “That’s how you do it, kitten.” A quick glance down the table gave her a view of Sebastian’s face, flush red and tipped down in prayer.

            “Wait,” Anders’ voice broke through the merry laughter that bubbled across the group. “What happens if Hawke wins a hand?”

            Varric shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Blondie. You know she’s rubbish at cards.”

            “I’m sitting right here,” Julian objected. “And if I win, I get to kiss whomever I want.”

            “And on the day you actually win at cards, Hawke, we’ll let you.” Varric was a merciless tease, but he wasn’t necessarily wrong. She _was_ rubbish at cards, but for the ability to pick her own partner, she’d try a little harder. If the comfortable fog of liquor let her, that is.

            Well, maybe she’d better just keep drinking and hope for the best.

            Isbela had broken the tension of the game. They started back up with their usual smack talk and horrible attempts at cheating, and when Fenris won the next round Hawke lifted herself out of her seat and strode over to him with assurance. He scowled affectionately and Hawke settled her arms around his waist for behind and left a few wet, lingering kisses along his neck, landing on his pulse and startling a tiny gasp out of him.

            Isabela hooted in amusement and Hawke strode back over to her seat with a hint of personal pride. She wasn’t necessarily out of practice, but it was gratifying to catch her friends off guard like this. They were, after all, an incredibly good-looking group of friends.

            She tipped slightly when she went to sit down and Anders caught her with one long hand, guiding her down until she was firmly seated. “Go easy,” he whispered, and she thought she felt his hand linger a little on her hip.

            “That’s no fun,” she murmured back, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. Maker take her, she was going to get him tonight, one way or another.

            The game went on and on, and it actually looked like Hawke was about to win the fourth round when Varric threw a truly awesome upset and won by a landslide that made Isbela hiss unhappily about how she had planned to plant herself in Hawke’s lap for her second kiss.

            “All right, dwarf,” Julian pushed away from the table and smothered Varric in quick little pecking kisses that made Merrill giggle and Varric shield his face with his hands. The quick little movements brought raised an alcoholic fuzz into a cloud at the top of her head and she sniggered gleefully.

            “Gerroff,” he muttered good-naturedly, smacking her hands away before she could hug him.

            “So far there’s no clear winner,” Fenris observed as Julian tracked back to her seat once again. “This might be a long night for you, Hawke.”

            “It’ll take more than a few kisses to tire me out, Broody, don’t worry,” she settled herself (again with Anders’ help) and picked up her new hand of cards. She affected a blithe attitude, continuing to take sips of drink and trading curses with Isabela, doing her damnedest to hide the slight hammering in her chest. There was a good chance she could win this one. A very good chance. And then Anders was going to get much more than he bargained for.

            When she set her cards down with a gleeful wave of her arms, the entire group hushed. Anders’ hand was no match for her, and Sebastian was the last to reveal. He was never too keen on winning, preferring the companionship of the game, so Julian figured she had it in the bag, and was planning her method of attack.

            “Sorry, lass,” Sebastia’s deep, accented voice was thick with amusement as he set down his cards.

            That bastard had a perfect hand. Her plan was down the toilet, but frankly, she’d be much more cross if Sebastian wasn’t shifting so adorably – aqua eyes trained on her in a shy request for permission. She crooked her finger at him, deciding that making a prince come to _her_ was well worth a little coy flirtation. He slipped around the edge of the table in three long strides and stopped in front of her as she turned around to face him.

            Legs spread by the back of her chair, she leaned her hands on her thighs and tipped her head up. He was a full head taller than her when they were standing – like this he towered over her. “You set the pace,” she reminded him quietly, trying to put him at ease. He had agreed to this, but she didn’t want to push him.

            Something in his posture changed – he was surer of himself now, which Julian had not at all expected. He knelt down to be eye level with the tiny, tipsy warrior and laid his hands on her knees before locking his eyes on hers and leaning in to brush a light kiss across her lips. _Maker_ but his lips were so soft and warm, and she hadn’t been kissing anyone on the lips on purpose (Isabela accepted, obviously), too afraid of losing control of her own impulses for want of skin on skin. And this? This was exactly the sort of situation that was bound to test her resolve. Sebastian lingered just long enough for her to wonder what he tasted like, and when he started to pull away she whimpered instinctively and followed him.

            A great, rumbling laugh rose out of him and he pushed back into her, slipping his tongue agilely past her lips and dragging his palms up her thighs, landing in a tight grasp on her hips. She barely stopped herself from keening, running her fingers deftly up his long arms and tangling them in his silky, copper hair. He guided her backward so that the table met the small of her back and caught her jaw carefully in his hands as he stood up to almost cover her body with his. She held on tight to his neck, but he coming up to his full height meant he was leaning her back so far that she had to drop her hands to the table to hold herself up, knocking over a stack of cards in the process.

He was destroying her self-control with consummate ease and she didn’t even care. _This_ was the man who had fucked and gambled his way across Starkhaven, and she was ready and willing to fall straight into his bed after just this one kiss.

            When he finally drew back he was smirking impishly. “Maker’s _breath_ , Sebastian,” she gasped.

            “You shouldn’t underestimate me, lass,” he warned throatily; and leaned in one last time to give her a friendly peck on the cheek before he strode back to his own seat.

            When she came back to her senses she heard Isabela and Varric applauding loudly, Fenris chuckling, and Merrill repeating, “Oh, _Creators…_ ” over and over in hushed, surprised tones. Anders was completely silent, face locked over gritted teeth and hands clenched into fists. “Deal,” he growled, and Varric complied with a chuckle.

            Somewhere in the haze of liquor and Sebastian’s kiss, she saw Anders’ eyes flicker between her and the prince with a note of sour distaste. When he caught her studying him, he fixed her with a stare so covetous that it made her tremble. Her reaction seemed to trigger something in him, because he ignored the hand Varric dealt him just long enough to reach across the table for more wine and lean into her, breathing hot, ragged breaths onto her neck and making her eyes flutter shut momentarily.

            _Perhaps_ – perhaps, no more whiskey, she thought. She was plenty keyed up, and her friends weren’t going easy on her anymore. She had no hope of winning this hand so she folded right away, deciding it would be more entertaining to watch them battle it out for each other’s coin and her attentions. She made a mental note to thank Isabela profusely for the idea and tucked her forearms under her breasts, leaning on the table to watch (and, admittedly, to show off her not inconsiderable chest). Merrill and Isabela dropped out next, and the boys went through several rounds of betting before Varric put his cards down.

            It was Fenris, Sebastian, and Anders now, and Anders looked determined. Just the sight of it made her stomach flip – although that might just as easily have been the cheap whiskey. The round went on and on. Fenris went out, and Anders gave Sebastian such a glare that the other man cautiously folded his cards and laid them deliberately down on the table in surrender.

            For a moment, Julian and Anders just sat and looked at each other. He had forced the hand. Forced it in his favour. Because he actually wanted to kiss her? Just because he didn’t want Sebastian to kiss her again? Whatever the reason, it was now her cue.

            She slid up onto the edge of the table and sat facing Anders, legs draped gracelessly on either side of his thighs, intending to be just close enough to turn him on, but not close enough to give herself away. She settled her hands on either side of his neck and turned his head to place a kiss just under his right ear – a place she knew from experience to be highly effective in unraveling the mage.

            She could feel his pulse pound when her lips connected with his flesh and he yanked her face up to his, pushing against and into her mouth with alarmingly needy resolve. Julian gasped a little in surprise, but he held her fast, sliding her off the edge of the table and into his lap – the unmistakable pressure of his excitement pushing against the exceptionally thin material of her trousers.

            She pulled back, eyes flying open in shock and he smirked in unabashed pleasure at the reaction. If Sebastian had only been _near_ perfect in his attack, it was only because Anders’ grasp on her was so tight, his lips fit hers so well, and his passion was so clear, that it far out-stripped anything else.

            “Grand prize?” She whispered, completely breathless.

            “Absolutely,” he murmured back, capturing her in another kiss.

            “Anyone else find it strange that no one won more than one hand tonight?” Isabela asked, deciding to ignore the fact that Hawke was climbing higher into Anders’ lap.

            “Not really,” Varric shrugged his shoulders and kept on counting cards.

            Hawke owed him. She owed him  _bad._

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing anything like this, so comments are appreciated!


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